


The Raven in the Tower

by EnvyBakemono



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Genderfluid Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9663947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnvyBakemono/pseuds/EnvyBakemono
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a kingdom by the sea. There are always such kingdoms, if you look hard enough. Usually these kingdoms have princesses – and so did this one, three of them, with hair of spun gold and faces fair as the dawn.The eldest was strong and bold and arrogant, and she commanded the armies of the kingdom and claimed the throne. The youngest was sweet and caring and clever, and she attracted the attention of princes from everywhere, all fighting for her hand in marriage, even stained with grease as it was. (Or perhaps that was why.) But the middle princess – well, who ever pays attention to the middle sister? She was quiet and kept her own counsel, and let her sisters’ stories be told. The only time she ever laughed or cried or screamed above a whisper was on top of the highest tower, and only the ravens heard her. (Royai fairytale.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mellorad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellorad/gifts).



                Once upon a time, there was a kingdom by the sea. There are always such kingdoms, if you look hard enough. Usually these kingdoms have princesses – and so did this one, three of them, with hair of spun gold and faces fair as the dawn.

The eldest was strong and bold and arrogant, and she commanded the armies of the kingdom and claimed the throne. The youngest was sweet and caring and clever, and she attracted the attention of princes from everywhere, all fighting for her hand in marriage, even stained with grease as it was. (Or perhaps that was why.) But the middle princess – well, who ever pays attention to the middle sister? She was quiet and kept her own counsel, and let her sisters’ stories be told. The only time she ever laughed or cried or screamed above a whisper was on top of the highest tower, and only the ravens heard her.

It came to pass that the youngest sister held a ball to finally choose a suitor. “It will be the _biggest_ party we’ve ever had!” Winry gushed. “And hey, maybe we’ll find someone for you too!” she teased her sisters. Olivier, the eldest, growled. Riza, as always, kept her own counsel.

\--

                She hated dresses. It had been Winry’s idea – Olivier in sunlight-gold, Riza in the silver of the moon, Winry in the white of starlight. The _other_ two looked amazing. Riza felt like a ghost.

                She hid in the corner, scanning the room. Everybody looked so…at _ease._ What a bizarre concept. How could anybody be so comfortable around so many other people?

                Riza raised the glass of champagne to her lips, taking a delicate sip – and her eyes met somebody else’s across the room. She flushed and choked, hiding it as best as she could. The man at the other end of the room looked _just_ as ill-at-ease as she did.

                He glanced away, and then back at her. Very deliberately.

                She pulled up her silvery skirt and fled.

\---

                The next night mostly went the same way. Olivier intimidated a group of admirals with battle tactics. Winry flirted with a group of handsome princes, somehow managing to pay attention to all of them in turn.

                Riza hid in the corner again, quietly denying any hope that she might have of seeing him again.

                “So I take it you’re not a people person.”

                She raised her eyes from the floor, trying not to flush. He was only a little taller than her, with the stiff gait of somebody trying very hard to duplicate the palatial manner and not quite succeeding. “Neither are you, since you’re talking to me and not somebody more interesting.”

                “Can’t I find you interesting?”

                “No,” hung on her lips, but she just shook her head. She could feel his eyes on her still, so she looked up at him again, taking his measure. “You’re no prince.”

                He didn’t seem surprised, and she could see the sparkle in his eyes. He took a sip of the red wine in his hand. “I’m not? Well, that’s news.”

                Riza suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she stepped forward and reached behind his ear, pulling a black feather free. “Princes usually brush their hair, for one. And they don’t sleep with the birds.”

                “Maybe adventurous ones do.”

                “Or maybe you’re a liar.”

                “Did I _say_ I was a prince?”

                “I – well –“ Hm. “I suppose not.” She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”

                “Apparently better mannered than you are.” Before she could work up the courage to punch him, he bowed. “Roy Mustang, at your service.”

                “Princess Riza.”

                “Ah, yes. The middle sister.”

                She pursed her lips. “You needn’t say it like that.”

                “They shouldn’t have dressed you in silver. You look like a ghost.”

                “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

                “I’d look far better in it.”

                Riza opened her mouth, tried to find some witty response, then closed it again. Roy just smirked. To her horror, she found herself blushing - she wasn’t sure, but it _sounded_ like a lewd comment - so she did what felt most appropriate. She dumped her glass of champagne over his head.

\---

                “One night! _One night,_ Riza!”

                _Three nights, technically,_ she thought to herself. But Olivier wasn’t really lecturing her. She was just… venting.

                She cast a glance over to the room where Mustang was changing out of his champagne-soaked tunic. Soaked was probably too dramatic a word. There’d hardly been more than a sip left. Olivier was making a big deal out of nothing –

                “Yes. Sorry,” she responded automatically. She didn’t argue with Olivier. There were other things to worry about.

                “Well, once he’s done, you apologize to him. Understand?” Then Olivier was gone, the golden trail of her dress sliding along behind her. Riza ignored the childish impulse to step on it.

                The door creaked open behind her. “Is she gone?”

                Riza flushed. “Yes.” Curiosity won out, and she glanced over her shoulder. Mustang gave her a cheery grin from behind the door.

                “So did I impress you?”

                “ _Impress_ me?”

                “Not so much?”

                Riza suppressed the sudden urge to laugh. “You really _aren’t_ a prince, are you?”

                “I have the feeling that’s a point in my favour.” His face softened. “I _was_ trying to make you laugh.”

                “Laugh? Why?”

                “You were miserable.”

                She blinked. It wasn’t that she didn’t _laugh._ She just… didn’t do it out loud. “I – You don’t – You don’t know anything _about_ me.”

                “I know people ignore you.”

                “Maybe I like being ignored.”

                “Nobody likes being ignored.”

                “I don’t like _people._ ”

                “You don’t have to like people to enjoy it when people give you a little bit of attention.”

                Riza wondered if she could get away with hitting him. She decided against it. “So, Mr. Mustang. Where are you from, really?”

                “Oh, not far.”

                “Very enlightening.”

                “Isn’t it?” The door closed, and she listened with a small smile as he struggled – then with dawning concern as there was a sudden ‘thump’. “…Mr. Mustang?” She wondered, not without a small amount of frustration, if he’d been dropped on his head as a child.

                “…Yes?”

                “Are you alright?”

                “Ah, mostly. How do these work again?”

                Well, concern had officially fully dawned. “…How do _what_ work?”

                “Uh, shirts.”

                She blinked, looked down at the doorknob, and wondered what the truly appropriate course of action was here. _He might just be kidding –_ But she opened the door anyway.

                Well, he wasn’t naked. He’d just managed to get his arm twisted in his shirt somehow, although he kept avoiding her glance. “Oh, Mr. Mustang,” she sighed. “Let me guess, you usually have a manservant?”

                “Actually, I usually have – well, nevermind,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying so hard to impress you, trying to be something I’m not - I look like an idiot, don’t I?”

                She knelt down in front of him, reaching for the buttons on his shirt without thinking – then stopped herself. _Why don’t I feel different? He’s a stranger –_ “Mr. Mustang,” she said quietly, “do we know each other?”

                The flush on his face was an answer, if not a complete one. “Oh, I’ve made a complete mess of things, haven’t I?”

                “What aren’t you telling me?”

                “You – you were so _sad –_ “

                “How could you _know_ that?” Her voice rose despite herself –

                The clock struck midnight. Riza got to her feet, startled – how had it gotten so late already? – and there was a flutter of wings behind her. Something black streaked at the corner of her vision, and Mustang was gone.

                The clothes Olivier had brought for him to change into were still there, perfectly folded. Riza sat down on the chair next to them, tracing the gilt embroidery on the tunic, and wondering.

\---

                The third night, Riza left their silvery dress on the bed, and dressed themselves in the gilt tunic, the brown belt, the beige hose. They tied their long hair back into a ponytail and pinned it up until it fell like feathers. Then they took the dress the colour of moonlight into their arms and climbed up to the top of the highest tower, where all their secrets had been scattered to the four winds.

                “It’s okay,” she said. “I’m not mad. You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

                The raven perched on the battlements tucked their head away, but Riza just smiled and offered the dress. The raven hopped forward, Riza looked away for a moment, and when they looked back, Roy stood there, flushed and awkward and gorgeous in silver and black.

                “You were right,” Riza sighed with a smile. “You look much better in that than I do.”

                “You look amazing.” Roy grinned down at his feet, running a hand through his thatch of feathery black hair. “How did you know?”

                “I’m not sure. Lucky guess, I suppose.” Riza reached out their hand. “May I have this dance?”

                Roy shrugged. “I don’t actually know how. Turns out being human is a little harder than just wishing on a star.”

                They laughed. “A _lot_ harder. But we all have to start somewhere.” They took Roy’s hand, and pulled them close. “Here. I’ll lead.”

                “Of course, Miss –“

                “Riza,” they interrupted. “Just Riza.”

                Roy smiled. “Of course, Riza.”

\---

                Once upon a time, there was a raven in a tower in a kingdom by the sea. The raven fell in love with a sad princess, and tried to give away his wings to make her happy, but his legs were clumsy and his lips were clumsier still.

He fled, thinking that they would never love him back, but they came to find him anyway, and taught him how to use his legs like wings, and he taught them how to fly in return. And one day, they flew across the sea, and to all the four corners of the world –

                -but that is a story for another time.


End file.
